WASHINGTON - I was working on a standard sidebar. That was all.
The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention had posted the latest cyclosporiasis numbers: 1,645 confirmed cases across 34 states. One hundred forty-one people hospitalized. More than 5,100 cases still pending laboratory confirmation. Michigan alone had reported 2,640 infections—up from a typical seasonal average of roughly fifty. The intestinal parasite Cyclospora cayetanensis was having a banner year, and my editor wanted three paragraphs on what the Food and Drug Administration was doing about it.
I have made this phone call probably thirty times. The rhythm is always the same. I call the press office, leave a message, get a callback from a spokeswoman who says the agency is "coordinating with CDC and state partners" and "cannot comment on an ongoing investigation." I type it up, attribute it, and file. The whole process takes ten minutes. I expected boilerplate. I expected to be bored.
I did not expect to be transferred four times and hung up on twice.
Call One
I started with the FDA's main press line. Voicemail. I left my name, outlet, and deadline.
Then I tried the general switchboard. A friendly operator asked my name and affiliation, paused while she typed, and said, "Let me connect you to the Center for Food Safety and Applied Nutrition."
The line rang fourteen times. A man answered, annoyed. "Procurement."
I said I was looking for someone who could comment on the cyclosporiasis outbreak response.
"You got transferred to Procurement?" he said. "We're in a completely different building."
I called the switchboard back. The same operator, still friendly, said, "Oh, let me try the Office of Food Policy and Response."
This time the line rang twelve times. A young man answered, slightly breathless. "Office of the Deputy Commissioner, Food Safety."
I identified myself and asked if someone could comment on the agency's response to the ongoing outbreak.
"Oh," he said. There was a long pause. "You mean the... parasite thing?"
I confirmed that I meant the parasite thing.
"Right. Um. We used to have a division that handled that. Let me transfer you."
Hold music. A soft piano cover of a pop song I almost recognized. Then a voicemail: "You have reached the desk of Dr. Ellen M. Faurote. I am no longer with the agency. For media inquiries, please contact..." The recording cut off mid-sentence.
I called the switchboard a third time.
"Hi, me again," I said. "The person you transferred me to doesn't work here anymore."
"Oh," the operator said. Another pause. "Yeah, I think that whole team got reassigned. But hold on. There's someone new handling all the food stuff."
Call Two
She transferred me to a man named Bryson Hale, who answered with the title "Director of the Office of Nutritional Integrity and Chemical Safety."
"Are you calling about the dye initiative?" Hale asked.
I said I was not.
"Oh." He sounded genuinely disappointed. Then his voice brightened. "Well, if you're writing about food safety, you really should be. We are talking about a BAN on Red Dye Number Three. Potentially Number Five too. This is the biggest public health crisis in the American food supply. I have studies. I have press releases."
I told him I was specifically trying to confirm the FDA's protocol for a parasite that had already put 141 people in the hospital.
"I don't have those numbers in front of me," Hale said. "Is that the one from lettuce?"
I said we didn't know if it was from lettuce. That was the problem.
"Right. Well. The old outbreak team used to handle source tracing. I think they were in Building 32. Or maybe they were contractors."
I asked if there was someone else I could speak with about outbreak coordination.
"Honestly?" Hale said. "That used to be under the old structure. We're reorganizing. The Make America Healthy Again agenda is really more about prevention, you know? Eliminating toxins before they enter the body. Did you know Red Dye Number Five is in practically every sports drink? We're talking about children. Bright blue tongues."
I asked if the FDA was currently attempting to identify which food was making people sick.
"I'm sure if you leave your number, someone will get back to you," he said. "But if you change your mind about the dyes, call me anytime. I can send you the press kit."
Call Three
He transferred me to Ashford Greaves, whose title, he told me twice, was "Acting Senior Principal Deputy Advisor for Food Systems Innovation and External Partnerships." Greaves answered like a man late for a meeting.
I started over from the top. CDC numbers. Thirty-four states. Michigan's spike.
Greaves sighed. "I'm actually just getting back from a trip. I was in Aspen with some folks from the transition team—flew back last night on a private jet, no commercial delays—so I'm still catching up on what's in the queue."
I asked what protocol the agency was following to coordinate with the CDC on source tracing.
"We follow all applicable protocols," Greaves said. "Obviously. I'm sure someone has a handle on that."
I mentioned that the person I'd been transferred to first no longer worked at the agency, and that the second person seemed to think outbreak response was handled by contractors in another building.
"Right, the old team had a certain... institutional knowledge," Greaves said. "But they were really locked into a legacy deep-state mindset. No more 'traceability' obsession. We're bringing fresh eyes. I actually just got bumped to Acting Senior Principal Deputy—did I say that already? I need to update my LinkedIn before lunch because the old headline said 'Senior Fellow' and this is way bigger."
I asked if he knew the name of anyone currently overseeing the cyclosporiasis investigation.
"The investigation," Greaves repeated, as if testing the word. "You know, I think that's probably with the outbreak people. But the outbreak people rolled up into a different workstream. Or they might have been part of the rehire. I'm not sure which batch."
I asked if he could connect me to whoever was in charge of food safety.
"I am in charge of food safety," Greaves said. Then he paused. "Well, I'm in charge of a food safety portfolio. There's a difference. Look, if you want the official line, write that we're monitoring the situation. That's always true."
Call Four
I hung up and called a former FDA staffer I knew from a previous story, someone who had left before the current administration. I asked, off the record, where the food safety expertise had gone.
"You know Jim Jones resigned in February of last year," he said. "Deputy Commissioner. Protested the cuts. They slashed HHS-wide by about a quarter. The FDA scrambled to rehire maybe three hundred people, but they didn't always rehire the ones who knew what they were doing."
What about the advisory panels? The National Advisory Committee on Microbiological Criteria for Foods? The National Advisory Committee on Meat and Poultry Inspection?
"Terminated," he said. "Both panels. Gone. Replaced with nothing."
What about the Food Traceability Rule?
"Delayed thirty months," he said. "Which, in outbreak years, is about three epidemics from now. The USDA Salmonella poultry rule got withdrawn entirely. And they revoked or proposed revoking fifty-two food standards. Just... gone."
I asked who was currently running outbreak response.
He laughed, but it didn't sound happy. "Last I heard, the Acting Commissioner is Kyle Diamantas. Lawyer. Ag economist. Not a doctor. The deputy for food safety is Donald Prater. Veterinarian. Good man, but not an epidemiologist. Dr. Marty Makary resigned in May. The expertise left, and the titles got longer."
I looked at my notes. I had spoken to three people with impressive-sounding job titles. None of them could tell me whether the FDA had identified a source. None of them knew the case count. One wanted to talk about candy. One wanted to talk about his career. One didn't know why I had been transferred to Procurement.
I called the FDA switchboard one last time. I asked for the Office of Food Policy and Response.
"We don't have that office anymore," the operator said, still friendly. "Can I transfer you to Strategic Health Communications?"
"Do they handle cyclosporiasis?" I asked.
"Let me check," she said.
Hold music again. I listened to the whole piano cover. No one picked up.
I hung up. I looked at the CDC numbers one more time. 1,645 confirmed. 5,100 pending. A parasite spreading through the food supply, and no one I had spoken to at the FDA could tell me where it came from.
I filed the sidebar. I used the only quote I had been given that resembled a statement: "We follow all applicable protocols." I attributed it to Ashford Greaves, Acting Senior Principal Deputy Advisor for Food Systems Innovation and External Partnerships. Then I opened the CDC dashboard and refreshed it.